Eight

Security Risks

The kitchen was quiet. Silent, really, but that was almost too harsh a word. The quiet that occupied the kitchen was soft, and gentle, and almost restless, and very, very tired. The group of demons, plus Cosette and Grantaire, were sat around the island in the middle in varying states of tiredness. Courfeyrac looked completely wide awake, and was the only one close to smiling, whereas Joly looked as if he was about to fall asleep then and there.

It was the morning after, but it had been a late night for everyone. Cosette wasn't sure she had ever seen Combeferre look so vacant, staring off into space. He alone didn't seem to have got a shower, or washed since the battle; he was wearing the same clothes, and they were still stained with various different colours of blood. His hands were clean, though.

She caught his eye, and tried to smile, but he didn't really match it. She guessed that it was something to do with Éponine, probably.

The kitchen door opened, and Enjolras strode in. His hair was damp and pulled back into a ponytail. There was something tight about the lines around his mouth and the way his eyebrows were set.

He took his seat at the head of the table, and then did something that Cosette never thought she'd see him do. He scrubbed his hands over his face. In her experience, such an action was usually carried out by those who had suffered a defeat of some kind.

Keeping his hands pressed over his mouth, Enjolras spoke, his words muffled by his palm. "Last night," he said, "Was..."

"Horrific?" Grantaire supplied in a grim voice. Cosette almost kicked him, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. He must have been exhausted; he hadn't slept at all last night after his shower. He had just sat at the foot of her bed, a warm weight against her feet, unmoving and prepared to fight.

"We won," Courfeyrac pointed out. "No one died."

"No one died," Enjolras echoed. "But we discovered some holes in our security. Joly..."

Joly jerked, his head shaking and his eyes blinking. He'd almost nodded off completely. "What?"

"How are Éponine and Musichetta?" Enjolras asked. He lowered his hands so that they cupped his chin.

"Both are recovering," Joly said. "Musichetta is exhausted, but most of her wounds have healed. Éponine's wound hasn't closed, yet, but it turns out that the bullet was silver." The demons all nodded, and then Joly glanced at Cosette and Grantaire and explained, "Silver is harmful to most demons, with varying degrees of severity depending on the race. Shapeshifters are particularly susceptible, and some of its poison is still lingering in Éponine's system and is stopping the wound from healing properly. But she should be fine in a few days."

"That's good to hear," Courfeyrac said, smiling a smile that was bright but did not quite reach his eyes. It was obvious that he was trying to raise the spirits around the table, but she wasn't sure it was working.

"As you said, there are holes in our security," Combeferre spoke up suddenly. His voice was very serious, and clipped. "We need to work on that."

"Yes, we do," Enjolras agreed. "We need to strengthen the safe guards we already have in place, and add some new ones. And we need to completely secure the hole left by the destruction of Musichetta's door..." He rubbed a hand over his face again. "What happened last night, cannot happen again. Not here. This is supposed to be our safe place."

"It still is," Courfeyrac insisted. "It still can be. The safe guards can be strengthened – it will take time for us to do it properly, but as long as we start now, today, they could be done by the end of the week. I can do them, with Jehan and Joly; and Musichetta can add some when she is better, yes, Joly?"

"What about alarms?" Cosette suggested. They all looked at her. "The alarm that went off last night, how was it triggered?"

"I set it off," Combeferre said.

"So it has to be manual?" Cosette chewed on her lower lip. "With all due respect, that doesn't exactly seem sensible. Why not have an alarm on all your entrances? So if they're ever disturbed, then we will be alerted immediately."

"That's an excellent idea," Courfeyrac said, smiling warmly. "Feuilly, you could do that, couldn't you?"

"Of course," Feuilly said. "I'd need some help, though."

"Anything you need," Enjolras said. He planted his hands on the table, fingers spread. "This will have to start immediately."

"Let's get cracking, then," Courfeyrac said, sliding off his seat.

OOO

Cosette had always imagined that casting a spell was as easy as waving a hand, maybe muttering a few words; instantaneous, and everlasting. It turned out it was not so simple, not for the bigger spells. Jehan tried to explain it to her, as she sat with them; it involved writing out lines and lines of symbols and words in various different inks and liquids, on a variety of different surfaces; some of these were burned, some torn, as the words upon them were read aloud.

"These are just traditional demon spells," Jehan explained to her, dipping a quill into a pale green liquid that glittered as he wrote. "All demons can do them, but some are more naturally predisposed to it. Some races, like the vampires or shapeshifters, aren't as good at them. Others, like myself, Courfeyrac and Joly, are very good at them."

"What are you?" Cosette asked. Jehan draw a swirling, complex symbol on the paper, smooth and fluid.

"Me? I'm a half-blood. My father was what you might call an...air demon, I think some people say. We can manipulate air, and do basic demon magic."

"Your mother was human, then?" Cosette guessed.

"No," Jehan said. "She was...Courfeyrac, what's the right word?"

"Succubus?" Courfeyrac grinned, all teeth; there were smatters of ink all over his hands and one along his nose. Jehan rolled his eyes, stopped writing, and snatched up a stained white cloth lying on the table next to his hand and wiped it over Courfeyrac's face. Courfeyrac accepted the pawing at his face as a punishment for what was obviously a teasing moment.

"Succubus," Cosette echoed. "Aren't they...?"

"My mother was not a succubus," Jehan said, giving Courfeyrac one last flick on the forehead with the rag and then dropping it. "But the race is a cousin, I suppose. More benevolent, and couplings don't traditionally result in death. Just a lot of babies. Still, they're a race designed to seduce."

"Enjolras is one of them," Courfeyrac said. The ink was now a dirty shadow over his face. He waggled his eyebrows. "Can't you tell?"

"Enjolras is designed to seduce?" Cosette raised her eyebrows. She could accept that, sure, Enjolras had a beautiful face, but she couldn't really picture him seducing anyone.

"He takes potions to restrict it," Jehan explained. "But even then, if he wanted to, he'd only have to click his fingers and..." He trailed off, swirled another symbol onto the paper in front of him. "He could have anyone he wanted."

"He hates it," Courfeyrac added, under his breath.

"I think I'd hate it too," Cosette said. "What about you, Courfeyrac? And Joly?"

Joly wasn't there; he was tending to his patients. But he had been there, earlier in the day, scribbling away.

"Oh, I'm a fairy," Courfeyrac said, as casually as if he'd just told them his name.

"A fairy." Cosette's voice was flat. She let out a small laugh. "Really?"

"Well, that's what your people like to call me," Courfeyrac said. "Hey, look." He put down his own quill and stood. He spun on the spot, and Cosette blinked, and then Courfeyrac had changed. His skin glowed, his face had become somewhat pointier, and his ears had lengthened into sharp peaks at the top. And wings had sprouted from his back, glowing, glittering, shimmering wings almost as big as him, yellow in colour.

Cosette stared, and Jehan did too, but not for as long as her. She blinked again, and suddenly Courfeyrac was sat down again, his face back to normal, his ears rounded, and the wings gone. "I can do other magic," Courfeyrac said. "I could do these safeguards myself, but this stuff," he said, gesturing at the papers before him, "Is stronger, lasts longer. Fairy magic can be a little...delicate, sometimes."

"Joly is also a kind of fairy," Jehan said. "But slightly different."

"They're from a different court is all," Courfeyrac said, then he paused. "Well, we all are – my race was conquered a few hundred years ago by the Demon King of the time and their courts were brought under the demon one. Joly's, however, has a court in a different place, outside of the demon realms, and they were never truly conquered. They agreed to pay tribute to the Demon King twice a year, and that's it, really."

"So what's the difference, between you and him?" Cosette asked, crossing her legs.

"Well." Courfeyrac paused, and the quill slashed across the paper as he thought. "The magic is slightly different, I think. I've never really thought about it, if I'm honest. I know Joly isn't much like the rest of them in appearance, and that's been an issue for him, I think."

"They like people with blonde hair," Jehan explained.

"Why?" Cosette said.

"I've no idea, ask Joly," Courfeyrac said. "It's probably a tradition thing. I've never thought to ask. Jehan?"

"I'm the same," Jehan said. "But he's also very good at healing, and he's not always very proud of his race, so he often just calls himself a healing demon."

"They're a bit rarer, though, and are different again," Courfeyrac chipped in. "But it's what Joly is happier to think of himself as, so who are we to complain?"

"Could a human help you write up these spells?" Cosette said, resting her elbow on her knee and cupping her face in her hand.

"You volunteering?" Courfeyrac wiped his arm across his forehead. "Nice thought, but the magic wouldn't work. Sorry."

"It was just an idea," Cosette murmured. "I'm feeling a bit useless. There's nothing for me to do, and Grantaire..."

She trailed off, thinking about her friend. He'd spent his days sleeping and his nights awake. He was barely speaking even when he was awake; he would pick at his food at mealtimes, and she'd caught him eyeing up what little alcohol had been passed around at those times with the hunger of a starving man. She was worried about him, and that worry must have shown on her face because she found Jehan resting his hand over one of hers. She felt the cool slip of ink against her skin and squeezed his fingers as thanks.

"Will he be all right?" Jehan asked, voice quiet.

"If..." Cosette began. "I hope so. I think, it was just a shock to him, that's all."

"Never killed before?" Jehan said. There was a note of sympathy in his voice.

"More like he never thought he'd have to kill again," Cosette replied, pulling her hand away. The green ink that was now smeared over the back of her hand glittered beneath the fluorescent lights above them. "He doesn't like it."

"Not many people really do," Courfeyrac said. For once, he sounded serious. "I'd be more worried if he did, if I'm honest."

"He needs my father," Cosette said. "My father is good at things like this."

"I think that you're good at things like this," Jehan said.

"Maybe not as good as you think," Cosette said, wondering how and when she'd be able to bring Grantaire out of the dark mood he had sunk into.

When she returned to her room, two hours later (two hours spent watching them script more spells, eventually joined by Joly), she found Grantaire huddled in the corner of her bed, smoking a cigarette. Seven more lay set out in a neat little line in front of him.

"Where did you get them from?" she asked.

"Feuilly," Grantaire replied shortly. "Plus some matches."

"I didn't know he smoked."

"He doesn't. He just made them for me." Grantaire flicked ash onto the floor. "Don't worry, I'll clean up."

"You've not smoked in over six months," Cosette pointed out, crossing the room and sitting on the bed beside him.

"I need something," Grantaire said. "I won't – can't drink – and there's nothing else to do –"

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I just..."

Cosette reached out and touched his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

When he looked at her, his eyes were wide and a little hollow looking. "I'm...I'm...I'm a horrible person," he breathed, voice shaking.

"No, you're not," Cosette said, leaning into him. "You're really not, Grantaire. I promise you, you're anything but."

"I am." Grantaire took a long, hard drag on his cigarette. "I am, Cosette. When I killed those demons..."

"You were protecting me," Cosette reminded him, knowing that was important to him. He groaned.

"Yes, but I didn't have to...I didn't have to kill them, I could have...I don't know. I just can't stop thinking about it and how – how it felt."

She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her forehead on his shoulder. She didn't know what to say to him, didn't know how to help, and she just hoped that embracing him would be enough. This was better, she thought to herself; the gravelly words he was uttering now were better than the hours of silence she had faced previously. Stony, heavy silence, painful to hear. Yes, this was better.

"I enjoyed it," he whispered.

She might have tensed a little, but she tried not to. Then she hugged him harder. "Don't," she said. "You didn't – you're just...Confused. What felt like enjoyment was probably – relief, or something. Grantaire, you're not a bad person."

"Hmm." The small noise was full of disbelief. The hand that had been raking through his hair moved to rest on top of her head, his fingers running through her hair instead. "I love you, Cosette."

"I know," she murmured into his T-shirt. "And I love you, too, and I know you're a good person."

"I am trying," he said. It didn't make much sense, but it did to her, to both of them, and she understood.

"It will be all right," she told him, and hoped to God that it would be.

OOO

That evening, Grantaire ate a little more, smoked four more cigarettes, and woke three times in the night, gasping and terrified.

But it was still an improvement on the nights that had gone before it.

OOO

The preparations for the safeguards were completed in under three days, and then they begun to implement them properly. In addition to this, Combeferre and Feuilly began to work on a more elaborate alarm system together.

Both Musichetta and Éponine were out of bed by that time. Musichetta looked better than Éponine, who was still very pale, tired and shaking; but Cosette felt like everyone's moods seemed improved just by seeing the two girls up and about.

Cosette divided her time between talking to Musichetta (when Musichetta wasn't spending time with Éponine, who had known her longer), and watching the demons reinforce their safeguards. When she was doing the latter, Grantaire would sometimes join her. He finished up what cigarettes he had left in the day after he had started smoking them again, and hadn't asked for more since. He was still talking very little, but having him spend time with her and with them was better than nothing.

On the final day, they were putting the alarms up in the Room of Doors. It was an entertaining thing to witness; it was clear that they weren't really sure what they were doing, but were getting by on Combeferre's research and Feuilly's existing knowledge of this kind of thing. Cosette and Grantaire sat in the archway that led to the Room; Cosette was cross legged, her hands resting loosely in the bowl created by her legs, whilst Grantaire sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, arms around them and hands tapping our a rhythm on his right knee.

Bahorel was just shouting at one of them for dropping a hammer onto his foot when it happened. One of the doors, a bright green one, suddenly opened and a large figure dropped downwards with a low grunt of pain.

The room was very still for a few moments, as everyone adjusted to this, and then they flew into action. Grantaire had already moved, sitting to one side and his body angled slightly in front of Cosette's.

Within minutes, Bahorel had the mysterious newcomer on his knees with his arms twisted behind his back. The group stepped back for a moment, and Cosette saw him. He was a big man, almost as big as Bahorel, with dark skin and dark eyes and cropped black hair. His clothes were a little dirty and there was blood trickling from his mouth.

"Dad!" Cosette was on her feet in an instant, flying across the room with a speed she didn't know she was capable of. She heard Grantaire curse somewhere behind her. She shoved someone – it might have been Jehan, possibly Courfeyrac – out of the way, and then kneeled before her father. "Get off him!" she shouted at Bahorel. "Get off him, it's just my dad!"

"Cosette," her father said, his voice a little raspy. "It's nice to see you."

"Bahorel, let go of him," Grantaire said. "He won't hurt any of us."

Bahorel hesitated, looking behind them. A moment later, he let go of her father, and he slumped forward. She caught him, wrapping her arms around his broad body and hugging him tightly. She thought she might have been crying. Her father held her tightly, his face pressed into her hair. Then he pulled away. His hands came up and cupped her face, and he stared at her intently. "Gods, I have missed you," he said. "You are all right? You are not hurt?"

"I'm fine," she said, her voice coming out a little garbled. "They've kept me safe."

"Good," he murmured, then pulled her into a hug again. "You cannot imagine my fear, the night your house went up in flames. No bodies found. I knew what it was...What it had to be..."

She just buried her face into the crook of his neck. "I'm fine, I'm safe," she mumbled.

He pulled away again, kept his hands on her face. "There is so much I need to tell you," he said. "You are not safe, Cosette."

"She knows," Grantaire said. "That's why they want her here. To keep her safe."

Her father looked up at him, and then slowly got to his feet. He stepped towards Grantaire, and clapped him on the shoulder. They shared a brief hug. "That's what I have you for," her father said.

"I've been doing my best," Grantaire said. His eyes flickered around the room. "They all have."

Cosette got to her feet as well. She was shaking. She found herself clinging to her father's dark grey jacket, not wanting to let him go just yet.

Enjolras stepped forwards. His eyebrows were knitted together. "Sir," he said. "I have to ask – how did you get inside?"

Her father wrapped his arm around her shoulders and drew her to his side. "Undoing demon safeguards has never been particularly difficult for me," he said. "They're my speciality. It's how I have kept hidden for so many years. Don't worry – I left most of them intact, I just made a little hole in them so I could get through -"

Cosette's head felt very light all of a sudden, and she swayed on the spot. She stared up into her father's face. "Excuse me?" she said. The words came out as no more than a whisper. "You – you knew about all of this?"

Her father's expression was grim. "There is much I need to tell you," he repeated. He looked around the room. "And I think that there is much you need to tell me."

OOO

Feuilly, Combeferre and Bahorel stayed to fit the rest of the alarms, and the rest of them retreated to the kitchen. Cosette and her father sat side by side, hands linked. Grantaire hovered next to them. It had always been his place, he thought to himself; he was as much Valjean's guard dog as he was Cosette's, when it came down to it.

"I don't know where to start," Valjean said. His hand flexed around Cosette's. Grantaire looked at her face. Her eyes were red and her cheeks were blotchy, some of the surprise and shock still evident on her face. Her free hand reached up to brush some hair out of her face, and it shook.

Marius was stood on her other side. He looked like he wanted to touch her – a hand on her shoulder, probably – but he never did. Grantaire suppressed a smirk; it had always impressed him, the amount of fear Valjean was able to instil in people just by being in the same room as them. It was mostly to do with his physical size, because he was actually very gentle when you got to know him.

"Maybe at the beginning?" Cosette suggested. Her voice was a bit wobbly, and possibly angry around the edges. She was suspicious, and Grantaire thought she had reason to be. He knew some of Valjean's secret, but not the finer details. He just hoped that Cosette didn't hate the both of them when she found out.

Valjean glanced at her. He, too, had clearly heard the waver in her voice. He cleared his throat. "I'm a demon," he said. "Half-blood – my mother was an Opifex demon, and my father was an earth demon."

Cosette's hand slipped out of Valjean's and both of them covered her face. This time, when Marius' hand twitched towards her he followed through on the movement, cupping her shoulder and squeezing.

Valjean flexed his hand like he was desperate to hold hers again, but instead brought his hands together and linked his fingers. "I was imprisoned when I was no more than a child, by demon standards," he said. "Life is rough in the demon prisons. It's mostly physical labour. I ended up on a team working mining a very specific gemstone from the mines in the night demon realms. It was around about then that I made my discovery – I learned that this gemstone, in the right hands, had the ability to alter safeguards and allow people to pass through them. That's how I made my first escape from prison. I was brought straight back again, and I never told anyone how I did it. They just thought it was a fluke, but it wasn't. When I was put back into the mines, I tried it again, and it worked again. I managed to stay out longer this time, but I was still caught. It just made my prison term longer, but I was eventually released. That's when my struggle began – no one wants to employ an ex-criminal."

"That's been a problem we've tried to deal with in the past," Enjolras said, nodding. Valjean flicked a glance in his direction, but he didn't acknowledge what Enjolras had said.

"Thanks to the generosity of another demon, I was able to reinvent myself," Valjean continued. "I – I broke parole, changed my appearance, and started a new life. I started a business, buying the gems from the mines and selling them as devices to help demons travel through safeguards. I made a lot of money, and it took me to some high places. The Demon Court itself, to be specific."

Cosette lowered her hands. They were still shaking, Grantaire noticed.

"That was where I met your mother," Valjean continued. Cosette's head twitched in his direction. "In the Court."

"Cosette's mother is a -?" Bahorel cut in, but Valjean held up a hand for silence.

"She was a Healer demon," Valjean said. "Very rare, and very valuable. She worked for the Demon King himself."

Cosette's hand pressed over her mouth now. "My mother was a demon?"

"Yes," Valjean said. "Yes, she was."

"Oh, god." Her head bowed. Grantaire moved towards her as well now, his hand taking her other shoulder. He dreaded what came next, the next details he knew; he had known that Valjean had been in prison and was technically still on the run, but he didn't know about the demon part.

"So she was a Healer for the Demon King," Courfeyrac said. He looked very serious. "Which king?"

"The current one," Valjean said. "I was in prison for a very, very long time. And she was – to a certain point. The King...He liked her."

Cosette let out a little puff of breath. "What do you mean?"

"The King has favourites," Jehan whispered.

"She didn't have a choice," Valjean said. "He's a brutal king. The alternative was death."

Grantaire squeezed Cosette's shoulder. Valjean had told him her mother had been a prostitute. He wasn't sure that was the right description now.

"The head of the King's Guard recognised me," Valjean said. "He used to work as a prison officer. I had to flee. Your mother...You were already born, Cosette, and she knew it was dangerous for you to live in the Court. So she gave you to me, as I prepared to leave. She begged me to take you. I couldn't say no – I'd witnessed so much brutality at the King's hand, and I couldn't leave a child such as yourself to grow up there. So I fled, taking what gems I had with me, and I kept us hidden for the next twenty or so years. It was easy enough to do in the human world, and my experience in the demon security business allowed me to cast strong enough safeguards."

"They were strong," Courfeyrac agreed. "I had a hard time unravelling them, although I suppose the demons sent by the King helped."

"Cosette, I never kept any of this from you out of malice or because I didn't think you could handle it," Valjean said, his voice low. He reached out for her hands again, and she let him take one. "It was for your own safety."

Once he had said that, he turned his gaze around the room, his eyes turning steely. "And what is it your wanted with my daughter?"

"To protect her, and only to protect her," Enjolras reassured him, and then explained everything that had happened with them and her.

"Rebels," Valjean said. "I never thought you'd be rebels."

"Who did you think we were?" Courfeyrac asked.

"I'm not sure, but I was certain you'd be loyal to the crown," Valjean said. "I still have some contacts in the demon realms, and I was able to track you down to that small shop...The woman that owned it...I can't recall her name, but it began with an 'M'. She gave nothing away, but I could sense the magic in the place. I eventually tracked you to this..." His eyes swivelled around the kitchen, "Place's entrance, I suppose, and the gems I was carrying revealed the door to me. Then it was just a matter of falling in, I suppose."

"I've never heard of these gems before," Courfeyrac said.

"That's because they're illegal," Combeferre spoke up, appearing in the doorway. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to the elbows. "They were banned about twenty years ago, and the stock was destroyed and the gems ceased to be mined. They were deemed too much of a security risk, and I am, for once, inclined to agree with the crown on this."

"It's true," Valjean said. "I think crime rates in the realms doubled after my invention. I was never really proud of it, but it kept me alive. But don't worry – they're dormant at the moment, I'm not actively using them."

"I must ask you to refrain from using them," Combeferre said, stepping further into the room. "We've spent a long time reinforcing our current safeguards."

"I would not endanger Cosette's or Grantaire's life through doing that," Valjean said. He glanced at his daughter again. His eyes narrowed briefly. "You said that the Demon King is after Cosette? What for?"

"Well." Courfeyrac seemed a little hesitant, now, and he was looking at anywhere but Cosette. "He wants to marry her. He wants a bride, and he has chosen Cosette."

Valjean's mouth gaped, and he shook his head. "No," he said. "That can't happen."

"Obviously not," Enjolras said. "Hence why we have taken her into our protection –"

"No, you don't understand," Valjean said, shaking his head again. "That's – that's not just it."

Courfeyac's eyes were now closed, and Jehan had put a hand over his mouth.

"What is it?" Cosette asked, croaking a little as she finished speaking. "What's wrong?"

"I can't be sure about this," Courfeyrac said, when Valjean failed to answer her. "But I think – I'm not sure –"

"Just say it," Grantaire ordered, fearing the worst.

"I think that the King might be your father," Courfeyrac said, quietly.